I used to think that all boy’s haircuts should be short and neat, almost (dare I say it) military like in their tidiness. Then I met this boy, with his absolute and profound loathing of the hairdressers and his belief that if his hair is getting too long the obvious solution is to “Curl it Mummy”
And I realised it was me who was wrong. Cutting his hair might not have been robbing him of his strength, but it was robbing him of his character. With his big laugh and cheeky personality he was never going to entirely suit a uniform cut.
Now it’s grown longer, the highlights in his hair are souvenirs he carries from warmer months and though he dresses smartly and proudly in his new school uniform, his hair says he is still an individual and a little child.
Our compromise is the agreement of a fringe trim every month or so. My sister bravely wields the scissors and we try to get it done with the minimum of fuss. Yesterday was the day : Two minutes in the kitchen in his chair, a quick squirt of water and a couple of bold and precise snips.
I’m loving being able to see his eyebrows again.